Well I Hate You More!
by XxTwistedThornxX
Summary: His steel-colored eyes landed on her and he growled, "I can see you have more than just 'friendly' training on your mind," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "Fine." Being written for the Skyrim Kink Meme.
1. Chapter 1

**Being written for the Skyrim Kink Meme (but it's not showing up on the site for some reason…so I'll post here and send a link back to the OP if it doesn't show itself)  
Prompt was: I really, REALLY want a Female!DB and Vilkas to be completely and honestly hateful with each other, but then they realize that behind that hate was actually pure honest love.  
As the actual storyline in the game goes, Vilkas is kind of rude from the beginning... so let's say they just CANNOT STAND EACH OTHER. They are SO hateful, and SO rude to one another that Farkas and his love interest (either guy or girl, I don't care) decide to do something about it.  
On a mission (fake or real), they take the Dragonborn and Vilkas and tie them together from the hands, not being able to come apart until they figure out a way to get along. Then of course after some time, maybe two-three days together, they realize they have feelings for each other.  
Make it happen realistically! XD  
* I would LOVE for a young DB (maybe a 18 to 20 year old Imperial blond girl)  
* I want a very respectful Vilkas, as in, he has never slept with anyone before because he never thought of marrying any lovely lady he's encountered on his life.  
* Sexyness after the problem has been resolved is also a plus, but not necessary.**

TL;DR ~  
F!DB and Vilkas hate each other so much but after Farkas and his LI tie them together, they mutually realize they actually hold honest romantic feelings and decide to act on them.

JUST GIVE ME WHAT YOU GOT.  
** I've never really written Vilkas before (except for a few lines he had in "Wedding Jitters") so I hope everything is in order.**

"That was a cheap shot," Ruccia growled, wiping a trickle of blood from her lips. Vilkas scowled, towering over the young Imperial with his sword poised for the final blow. They were both covered in sweat and bruises, their "training" session having lasted from sunrise to well into the afternoon. The companion would have liked nothing better than to call it a day and go enjoy a mead or two with his brother, but the Imperial brat just wouldn't give up!

"Your enemies aren't going to fight fair," he lectured, sheathing his blade at his waist. "Now, accept your defeat. I never mind giving you a good thrashing but I'm tired of this little game." Vilkas turned on his heel and started for Jorrvaskr, leaving the girl to scramble to her feet.

"Don't walk away from me!"

Vilkas ignored her, shaking his head with a frown. He didn't join the companions to babysit snot-nosed kids who were barely off their mother's breast, and yet that's all he seemed to be doing lately! He would have a word—many, quite colorful words, in fact—with his Harbinger about the situation.

Ruccia shook her head, watching the man's steel-plated back retreat. She wasn't finished with him, not by a long shot. Not until she could pin that arrogant son-of-a-bitch and rub his nose in it like the disrespectful mutt he was! She was tired of being treated like a child (true, she hadn't yet reached her 18th summer yet, but it was only a few days away!) and blowing a strand of honey-blonde hair out of her amethyst eyes, she lunged at the older man.

Vilkas heard her coming and side-stepped her easily, but Ruccia wasn't so quickly deterred. She whirled around and decked him in the jaw, smirking triumphantly when he stumbled back with a pained grunt.

His steel-colored eyes landed on her and he growled. He tossed his shield and sword to the side and slipped the gauntlets off his hands. "I can see you have more than just 'friendly' training on your mind," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "Fine." Vilkas swung at the Imperial, their sparring turning into a full-fledged brawl in the courtyard. She may have been a woman, but she was (as much as Vilkas loathed to admit it) also a companion. If she wanted to be treated like an equal, then he'd show her what it was like.

He pulled no punches, not giving her a moment to breathe or retaliate in his assault. She blocked and strafed, trying to find an opening but he refused to give her one. All the while, he pummeled the Imperial with a scowl. Vilkas had never liked fighting women, it didn't make him feel like a man. But, by Ysmir, this woman drained every ounce of sanity he had and led him to do things he never in a thousand eras would have thought to do before.

Up at the Skyforge, Farkas leaned over the fence with a frown. He watched his brother and shield-sister go after each other's blood and shook his head. This wasn't what the companions were about! Ruccia was still new so he couldn't hold it against her, but his brother knew better.

"Should I go stop them?" He wondered, watching Ruccia knee Vilkas in the genitals with a wince. Soft arms snaked around his bicep and Farkas looked down at his wife, who watched the scuffle with her soft, topaz eyes. The sunlight danced in her cornsilk tresses, which were neatly braided down her back, and her pale skin was slightly sunburned from working in the forge all morning.

"Their fight is not yours, husband," She sighed with a shake of her head. "Ruccia is still young, and Vilkas has the temper of a small child, they need to settle this as children do."

"But Anjya," he started to protest. Anjya raised a hand to quiet him.

"If you interfere, it will only fuel their animosity. Let them get their anger out, then, they'll go inside and avoid each other for the rest of the day, as they always do."

Farkas watched them for a few more moments with a solemn sigh, "You're right."

Anjya smiled and kissed her husband's jaw, running her hand along his scruffy cheek as he smiled meekly and kissed her palm. His wife reminded him of Vilkas sometimes, always having the answer to any situation. But, unlike his brother, she was patient and understanding. He supposed that's what made her such a good Harbinger. Like Kodlak.

"Come," Anjya sighed, lacing her delicate fingers with his, "let's make sure Tilma has some medical supplies ready for when our siblings are finished with each other." Farkas nodded and followed his wife down the hill to Jorrvskr, casting one more look at the couple in the courtyard. They were on their backs now, fatigued and gasping for breath.

Ruccia felt around for a rock and weakly hurled it at Vilkas. "I hope a dragon eats you up and shits you out," she growled.

"Well, I hope a giant knocks you half-way to Elsweyr," Vilkas countered.

"I hope you get raped by a group of lonely Hagravens!"

"You are the most disturbing woman I've ever met!"

"At least I don't _look_ like a woman!"

Vilkas smirked. Ruccia paused, then flushed.

"That's not what I…I meant that _you…_" She groaned in irritation, slamming her cracked and bloody fist onto the ground. "Just _die,_ why don't you?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Woah, I've been getting a lot of fav alerts for this story! Pressure is on it seems, haha. Sadly, the action doesn't start until next chapter.**

Vilkas collapsed on the bed and held a raw piece of horker meat against his swelling eye. His head was pounding and he could faintly taste the rust of blood in his mouth. He ran his tongue over his split lip and sighed, this wasn't exactly how he had been planning to spend the day but he was far too sore to try and salvage the rest of the evening.

The sound of heavy footsteps made him grit his teeth, he knew Farkas's thundering stomps like the back of his hand and Vilkas inwardly groaned. He was _not _in the mood to be entertaining his brother right now…

"Vilkas?"

He sighed and peeked his good eye open to glance at his twin darkening the doorway. Farkas held a mug in his paw-like hands, grasping it carefully as though he were nervous he may spill it.

"What is it, Farkas? I'm a bit indisposed at the moment."

"I know, I saw," Farkas paused and glanced down at the contents of the mug. "Anjya said to drink this. She said…uhm," the nord's brow furrowed as he tried to recall his wife's exact words. "'It won't mend your pride, but it'll at least make you nicer to look at…' yeah, I think that was it."

Vilkas scoffed and pushed past his protesting muscles to sit against the headboard, taking the mug wordlessly when Farkas held it out to him and downing the contents in one gulp. He gagged and shuddered, slamming the empty cup onto his bedside table.

"That tasted just about as bad as her cooking."

Farkas opened his mouth but then thought better of it.

"She wants to see you as soon as it kicks in," he said instead, "Says it's important."

"Tell her I'll be right there," Vilkas sighed. He could feel the potion working through his system already, a gentle tingling enveloped his muscles and he pleasingly noticed that he could open his right eye again. He slipped the piece of meat off his face.

"She wants you to bring Ruccia, too."

Vilkas scowled and narrowed his eyes at Farkas. "Why can't you get her?"

"Anjya said she wanted you to bring her and I don't want to make her mad," Farkas pouted. "She makes me sleep in the mead hall when I do." Vilkas shook his head and stood, tossing the slab of raw horker at his brother as he left for the "Whelp room."

Vilkas found Ruccia curled up on her bed with her pillow thrown over her face. Her light green dress was only half-way laced and Vilkas could see peeks of her bruise-blotched skin. He smirked to himself and picked up the armor she had discarded on the floor. "Get up, Whelp," he commanded, tossing the cuirass on top of her prone form. She yelped in protest and pushed it off, sliding the pillow back to scowl at him.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Anjya wants to speak with us. Now, on your feet, I won't ask you nicely again."

"You didn't _ask_ the first time," Ruccia grumbled, wearily pushing herself off the hay-filled mattress. She glared up at the companion, noticing how he looked no worse for wear. He had a dark mark under his right eye and his lip was a little swollen, but compared to her he looked like he had long since healed. Ruccia self-consciously put a hand to her sore, swollen nose as she followed Vilkas to the Harbinger's room. As they passed by, Njada took a good look at Ruccia's black eye and busted nose, turned to Athis, and smirked. Athis groaned and dropped a handful of gold into her outstretched hand.

Ruccia frowned, keeping her eyes trained straight ahead. The others wouldn't be betting against her forever, it was all a friendly jibe against the new recruit. She knew that, and yet when it came to losing because of Vilkas, her blood began to boil.

Vilkas didn't seem to notice the other companions' exchange, his face was stern as he rounded the corner and pounded a heavy fist against the Harbinger's wooden door. There was a quiet groan from the other side, along with an irritated "already?" before an authoritative voice called them inside.

Vilkas swung the doors open, stepping over the threshold as Anjya finished washing her mouth out over a basin. Her skin was slightly green, but otherwise her topaz eyes were sharp as she looked over her shield-siblings.

"You two seem like you need a change of scenery," she began, crossing her arms over her chest as she looked pointedly at each of their (remaining) injuries. "So, in order to save Jorrvaskr from a catastrophe, I've decided that you two will be accompanying me and Farkas to take care of a giant problem outside Falkreath."

"I can understand asking me to tag along," Vilkas said, eyeing his sister-in-law as she wearily sat in a dining chair. "But, shouldn't the whelp stay behind?"

Ruccia scowled and turned on him. "I can handle myself just fine!"

"Quiet, the both of you," Anjya commanded with a stern glare, "You're both coming because we need a full squad. Ruccia, I _would_ leave you behind if I could, not because I don't think you can handle yourself, but because I'd rather you had a few more smaller jobs before taking on a giant. I was hoping to ask Aela or Ria to come along, but they've been sent to Winterhold to deal with an ice wraith infestation and Njada and Athis are on their way to Riften."

"Torvar?" Vilkas suggested.

"You trust his drunken hide to watch your back?" Anjya countered. Vilkas conceded with a sigh. "It's settled then. Get some rest and we'll head out in the morning."

Vilkas growled to himself and marched out. Anjya shook her head and beckoned Ruccia over, pouring a murky liquid into a mug. "Drink this, I need you in top condition for tomorrow."

Ruccia took a sip, her eyes bulging as she gagged and struggled to keep it down.

"What is this?"

Anjya chuckled, "I won't tell you what's in it, just know that you'll be raring to go come morning." Ruccia eyed the Harbinger but choked down the rest of the potion, feeling a tingling sensation spread through her body. After a few moments, the aches and pains she had been feeling since that afternoon dissipated.

"It works well, doesn't it?" Anjya asked, taking the drained cup from her shield-sister. Ruccia nodded, gingerly checking her nose, which was no longer tender. "Now, go on. Consider this giant your final test before you're officially initiated."

Ruccia nodded but forced her face to remain stern despite the elation swelling in her chest. Anjya waved her hand and the Imperial left with a simple word of thanks, heading back to the "Whelp Room" to prepare for morning.

If all went well, she wouldn't be a "whelp" for much longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**I've been a little depressed lately, so I've had trouble getting chapters done and posted. This chapter is much shorter than I wanted it to be, (I originally planned for three parts...at least 1,500 words perhaps...) but I just couldn't push myself into writing more. But, I swear that I will discover some miracle happy pill and see how many more of these I can shoot out ASAP. Thank you for all your support!**

The giant towered over the walls of Falkreath, yellow teeth bared as a muscled arm crushed a group of guards under its club. It roared and flattened a horse under its foot, glowering at the fleeing townspeople.

Anjya spurred her horse onward, looking over her shoulder to catch the attention of her comrades. "Get it away from the town," She ordered. The twins looked at each other and nodded, unsheathing their weapons and urging their mounts onward at full speed.

They rode on each side of the giant and slashed at its legs, enough to catch its attention, but not enough to do any real damage. The monster huffed in annoyance, following the brothers with its eyes before stomping after them down the road.

Anjya and Ruccia followed, dismounting their horses and nocking arrows as the twins broke off in separate directions. The giant paused and growled, unsure of which to apprehend.

"Keep steady," Anjya said, eyes zeroing in on the giant's neck. "Don't fire until I tell you to."

Ruccia nodded and aimed for the monster's head, arms shaking with adrenaline. She inwardly cursed and tried to steady her bow. Out of the brush, Farkas and Vilkas charged, slashing at the giant with their blades.

With a furious roar, the giant reared back and swung at Vilkas—who rolled deftly out of the way and charged in for another assault.

"Now!" Anjya commanded, releasing her arrow. Ruccia fired, paling as her arrow skimmed the giant's ear and continued into the distance. Anjya's arrow struck the side of the giant's throat and it stumbled forward, bringing a large hand to his neck to pull out the projectile as though it were a splinter. The Nord and Imperial women darted around to the giant's front, continuing to shower it with arrows as the twins hacked away.

A gush of crimson spurted from its right ankle, a smirking Vilkas pulled his blade from the severed flesh. The giant roared and collapsed onto one knee, using its club to hold itself upright. Vilkas raised his sword, ready to plunge it into the creature's abdomen and Ruccia frowned. This was supposed to be _her _proving, wasn't it?

_You're not going to show me up, this time!_

Ruccia slipped her bow over her shoulder and unsheathed her sword, rushing at the giant at full speed. Vilkas scowled, steel eyes glowering at the approaching young woman.

"Stay back, whelp," He warned, "This one's mine!"

"You wish!"

The giant growled, watching the Imperial running its way. It shifted, rearing its club back with a furious shout. Farkas's eyes widened and he dashed for the young girl, throwing her onto the ground just as the bludgeon collided with his breastplate.

Time seemed to slow.

He was flying, he thought. For a brief moment, he was weightless and the world was nothing but a rush of color around him. He could hear nothing but a torrent of wind and his own heart thundering in his chest.

Farkas slammed against a tree, his steel armor creating a brutal gash in the bark before he crumpled to the earth below.

"Farkas!" Anjya shouted and ran for her husband, tossing her bow to the dirt. Ruccia stared wide-eyed from the ground, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Vilkas roared, jamming his sword into the giant's abdomen and disemboweling it, jumping out of the way just as it collapsed. He left it to suffer, rushing to his brother's side.

Blood dribbled from Farkas's lips and seeped through his armor. The steel-plate was beyond repair, bent out every-which-way and no doubt pressing into his broken body. Anjya's hands hovered above him, too terrified to touch him. "Get help," She ordered, refusing to tear her tear-filled gaze away.

"Aye," Vilkas obediently remounted his horse and made a mad-dash back toward town. He grit his teeth, steel eyes narrowed on the road ahead. The image of his battered brother was burned into his mind's eye, and one thought repeated itself like a mantra in his head.

_Her fault. All her fault._


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you everyone for all your support on this story! Chapter 5 onward is completely Vilkas/Ruccia-centric and boy, do I have plans for them! Everything you've been waiting for is coming up soon!**

Vilkas returned with a group of six men, a horse-drawn cart, and a priest. The priest immediately moved to Farkas's side, ordering Anjya away so he'd have room to examine the wounded man. Anjya reluctantly stood and took a few steps back, gauntleted hand covering her mouth as she watched.

Ruccia was still in the dirt, her mind plagued by a mass of thoughts rushing her at once. She was on the ground, Farkas had pushed her, and then he had gone flying through the air. Hit with the giant's club, she realized with a sick feeling in her stomach.

_That could've been me…_

Vilkas growled and grabbed her by the arms, yanking her off of the ground and holding her at his level. Ruccia yelped, her feet scrambling for solid ground but finding only air. She'd never realized how tall he was.

"Answer me!" He demanded. Ruccia hadn't even heard him ask a question. Vilkas's eyes were wide with fury, his teeth bared like a savage animal ready to devour its prey. Ruccia struggled, kicking and writhing in his tightening, steel-clad grip, fearful that he might pull her limb from limb if she didn't escape.

"Let me down!"

Vilkas all but threw her onto the ground, only to yank her to her feet and turn her toward his brother as the men—all six of them—carefully lifted him onto the cart.

"Look at what you've done," he growled, hands tight on her shoulders. Ruccia stared, watching the group gently lay Farkas down on the wood. A soft, pained groan echoed in her ears and she gulped and turned her head away in shame. Vilkas scowled and grabbed her hair, forcing her face-forward. "_Look_ at what you've done," he repeated, "Do you see what the price of your idiocy is?_Do you?_"

Ruccia frowned but clenched her fists. "He didn't have to push me out of the way," As soon as the words left her lips, she knew they were a mistake, a blunder of her wounded pride trying to repair itself.

Vilkas made an appalled noise and whirled her around. His left hand fisted in her leather armor and his right rose into the air. Ruccia clenched her eyes shut.

"Vilkas!"

The man stopped, still poised to strike the woman in his grip as he turned to his sister-in-law. Ruccia peeked an eye open as Anjya strode over, grabbing Vilkas's arm and forcing it to his side.

"Enough of this," She admonished. "We need to get Farkas back to Whiterun, he needs healing magic," Anjya looked over her shoulder at the waiting cart, worry etched on her face but also hope. "The priest gave him some potions to stabilize him for the journey but they'll do little else. He says he should be fine for the ride home but we have to hurry." Her golden eyes landed on Ruccia, a burning behind her irises like a dragon's fire and it sent a foreboding chill down the Imperial's spine.

She expected the Harbinger to berate her or assault her but instead the woman laid her hand on the girl's shoulder, tugging her out of Vilkas's hold. "I need you to ride ahead to Whiterun. Go to the Temple of Kynareth and tell Danica that we're coming."

Ruccia blinked once in confusion, then her expression hardened and she nodded. She picked her sword up from the ground and ran to her stallion, kicking it into a gallop as soon as she was on the saddle.

Anjya watched her ride off for a moment before turning for the cart. She didn't look over at her brother-in-law when she next spoke, "You ride ahead and I'll take the rear. Be ready for battle at any given moment, the last thing we need is a group of bandits mistaking this cart for a merchant's and us being unprepared."

"Understood," Vilkas acknowledged, moving for his horse, but Anjya's hand on his arm stopped him. Her eyes were hard and her mouth turned down in a frown.

"I want you and Ruccia to report to my office as soon as we return to Jorrvaskr; we have something to discuss."

Vilkas opened his mouth in question, but Anjya was already walking away. He frowned, watching Anjya mount her grey mare and look down upon her husband. He shook his head and pulled himself onto his own horse. Farkas was the main concern at the moment, and while rage still burned in his blood Vilkas knew his anger would have to wait.

Wait until he could get that damn Imperial alone.

* * *

Ruccia sat on her bed and sighed, staring at her boots with a frown. Anjya and Vilkas had ridden up with Farkas a few hours ago, taking him straight to the temple of Kynareth with the help of a few men from around town. She had tried to go inside, she was just as worried about the companion as the rest of them, but Vilkas had shoved her aside with a growl of, "Haven't you done enough already?"

Anjya had stepped past her without a second glance and Ruccia returned—ashamed—to Jorrvaskr to await news. She must have fallen asleep at some point, as Tilma gently knocked on the door and roused her from the bed a few hours later.

"Anjya wants to see you right away," the feeble woman said. The lines on her face seemed to be deeper as she frowned. "I wouldn't keep her waiting in the state she was in."

Ruccia grimaced and thanked the old woman, pushing herself off the straw mattress and cautiously making her way to the Harbinger's room. She could hear Anjya behind the door, from the sounds of things Vilkas was there too.

_Perfect…_

Ruccia inwardly groaned as she pushed the door open. The other companions went silent at her entrance, both pairs of eyes locked on her as she closed the door behind her.

Anjya sat on a dining chair, her hair unbraided and hanging loosely down her back and shoulders, her usually sharp, fiery eyes were dull and tired but they narrowed noticeably when Ruccia stood beside a scowling Vilkas.

All was quiet for a few moments as the harbinger looked from one companion to the other, weighing her words before speaking.

"This rivalry of yours _must stop_," before Ruccia or Vilkas could say anything, Anjya continued, "I wasn't planning on stepping in before. I figured it was healthy, something to push each of you to do your best when it came to jobs, but today I've seen the true effect it has on your performances." She stood from her seat, stepping towards Ruccia with a malicious glare that the imperial never could have imagined the woman possessed. "Ruccia, we are a family and we fight for each other, not ourselves. Your personal glory means nothing if your shield-brothers and sisters have died in order for you to achieve it. Until you learn that, you will never become a companion."

The words made Ruccia's body feel as though she were wearing ten sets of steel armor. Never become a companion? That was…unthinkable. She had risked too much to come to Skyrim, sacrificed everything to pursue this dream.

_Idiot child, this can only end badly for you! When you fail, don't you dare show your face around here expecting help!_

Ruccia frowned, hearing her father's threat echo in her ears.

Anjya turned on Vilkas, "And you, you've been a companion since you were whelp of a boy. You should know better than to bring your grudges out to the battlefield, egging her on like you did."

"Egging her on? I didn't—"

"'This one's mine'?" Anjya repeated his words from earlier that day and Vilkas fell silent, "You two need to learn to work together, and you are not welcome back into Jorrvaskr until you do."

"What!" Ruccia and Vilkas yelled in unison. Anjya crossed her arms over her chest and huffed.

"Well, it appears you two actually agree on something. Good to know."

"You can't just kick me out," Vilkas argued with a scowl. Ruccia said nothing, but nodded in agreement.

"I'm not just giving you a handful of gold and wishing you well," Anjya walked over to her desk and held up an unsealed letter. The seal of jarl of Markarth was branded into the envelope. "I'm sending you two on a long-term job," she explained. "If you two haven't managed to find a way to work together by then, more drastic measures will have to be taken. But, I'm hoping that running through an old Dwemer ruin will be enough for you two."  
Ruccia glanced over at Vilkas, who stared at his sister-in-law with a clenched jaw before nodding and turning on his heel to leave.

"You leave in the morning," Anjya called after him, shaking her head and placing the letter back on her desk. She looked to Ruccia and sighed softly but otherwise said nothing to the Imperial. Ruccia shifted on her feet for a moment, not sure if she should leave or if the Harbinger had more to say. Anjya looked at her expectantly and Ruccia took a deep breath to calm her shaking hands.

"I'm…sorry about Farkas. It was my fault," The words did not come easy, no matter how true Ruccia knew they were. Anjya nodded her head once.

"You and Vilkas will be guarding an excavation team, the dig is expected to last at least a month."

So she wasn't forgiven. Ruccia decided that was fair, no matter how tight her stomach seemed to coil with humiliation. She nodded and thanked Anjya before taking her own leave, walking back to the whelp room with her eyes trained on the floor. Her future in the companions depended on this job, but a month alone with Vilkas? Working with him, fighting beside him without fighting with him?

That was easier said than done.


	5. Chapter 5

Ruccia yawned and rubbed a fist against her eyes. The sun had not yet risen and the air was ice cold, numbing her ears and stinging the tip of her nose despite how she huddled in her bear-skin cloak. She looked over her shoulder, shifting on the carriage seat to get a better view of the hill. Vilkas was finally making his way down the path, dressed in his steel armor with his pack slung over his shoulder. As the distance between him and the waiting carriage lessened, Ruccia saw a scowl twisting his lips.

Vilkas tossed his pack into the carriage and pulled himself up to sit across from the Imperial, pulling his own cloak around his shoulders with a huff. He nodded once to the coachman who spurred the horses forward with a shout and a snap of the reins.

"Have you ever been to Markarth?" the man asked, trying to make cheery conversation as though he could sense the tense air between his passengers, "built on top of one of those old Dwarven ruins, or so they say."

"Is that so?" Vilkas sighed, his eyes resting on Ruccia, who was looking everywhere except for him. The coachman continued to prattle on, a history lesson that neither of the Companions was interested in listening to.

Vilkas lost himself into his own mind, envisioning the city that they would be residing in for the next month or two. So many stone stairs and high places that one misstep could doom any unsuspecting newcomer—or one push. He wondered if Anjya would believe that the small Imperial just…slipped on their way to the excavation.

He could see his brother's broken body flash in his mind, the shards of bone that had speared their way outside of his flesh, the way his skin paled and he moaned in agony as Danica had to push them back in and snap all the broken bones back into place. The pain had eventually overcome his twin and he fell silent, unconscious, as the priestess continued her work.

His heart sank, recalling the way Danica gave him and Anjya a sympathetic look.

"_I've done all I can, but he will be lucky to even walk again, much less swing a sword. He is in the hands of the Divines from this moment on."_

Ruccia seemed to feel his eyes on her and she moved to meet his gaze with a frown.

"What?"

Vilkas shook his head, kicking his bag farther under the bench with the back of his foot. He was ordered to work with Ruccia without argument, and that's what he would endeavor to do.

Even if he would like nothing better than to throw the young girl under the horses and watch them ride over her.

* * *

Ruccia grit her teeth and shifted on her feet, trying to ignore the pounding inside her head. The metallic scrape of gears and the pumping of pistons echoed through the halls as well as in her eardrums, doing nothing to quell the headache that had surfaced before they entered Nchuand-Zel.

After the thirteen hour ride from Whiterun to Markarth, she had hoped they would be able to settle in. But the researchers were waiting at the city gate, enthusiastic and ready to begin work as soon as possible. To Ruccia's distress, they informed her that they would be camping in the ruin and rooms at the inn had not been reserved.

This was going to be a long month.

"Absolutely fascinating," Stromm mused, running his fingers along his mustache (or maybe it was Krag, all four of the Bretons looked the same to Ruccia) "Think of what we could accomplish if we could recreate their technology."

"More than likely, we'd all disappear. It's what happened to them, right?" Vilkas cut in, though he seemed as enthralled by the broken, golden city as the researchers.

"Don't be foolish," Stromm replied, crossing his arms over his chest haughtily. Vilkas scowled, not used to being called "foolish," and Ruccia had to cover the smirk cracking her lips.

Perhaps this would be more fun than she thought.

"They sure knew how to live, at any rate," Another Breton said, lifting a golden cup and slipping it into his bag.

"Erj! Return that at once, we're here to study!"

"I doubt the dwarves would fault me some extra spending money, I might need it for some…pleasurable company," Erj's eyes landed on Ruccia with a stare that made her skin crawl. She pointedly looked away and began to survey the area for any threats.

It was odd, she thought. They had been down there for hours (at least, it felt that way. There was no way to tell time down in the ruins) and they hadn't come across a single enemy. Ruccia had heard tales of automaton guards that patrolled the golden halls of the old Dwemer cities, but so far there had been no sign of anything else down in the tunnels.

"Don't wander too far," Vilkas warned. Ruccia scowled but waved a hand over her shoulder in acknowledgment. Life was much simpler when she didn't have to speak with him. She slipped out of the room to survey the hall, running her hand along the engraved metal walls as she walked.

This place wasn't all that dangerous, besides some sharp objects and the precarious catwalk they'd had to cross to get over to this section of rooms. Did the companions really need to be bothered with a job like this? Surely simple mercenaries or town guards would have sufficed.

"Anjya just wanted to get rid of us," Ruccia grumbled, stopping before a large bust of what must have been a dwarf. Perhaps a king, but she was no authority on Dwemer regency so she couldn't say. He looked noble enough with a grand beard, sharp nose, and eyes that seemed to narrow down at you. The Imperial looked over the bust and snickered, it reminded her of a Nord her father had introduced her to several summers ago.

_"When you're before other nobility, be sure to remember your courtesies."_

She pretended to lift the hem of a skirt, recalling those dresses she had so despised for years. Like the scarlet one she had worn to her father's last social gathering, the one with the much-too-tight corset and the trailing fabric that seemed intent on trying to trip her and break her ankles the entire night. She curtsied, batting her eyelashes and pulling her lips into a flattering smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Your Grace, marvelous palace you have here. Perhaps you would be so kind as to give my charges the grand tour?" She waited a beat then curtsied again. "Oh, thank you, your highness. You are very gracious."

"I always knew you were mad," A voice said behind her. Ruccia stiffened and looked over her shoulder. Vilkas stared at her, shaking his head with his arms crossed and brow arched. Behind him, the researchers began to file out of the room, luckily oblivious to her little display.

"Never hurts to ask politely," She would not give the man the satisfaction of a defensive remark. "Courtesy goes a long way, you know."

"Really? Maybe you should try it some time."

Ruccia's cheeks flared and she bit back a retort as he walked past her, deeper into the ruins. She turned on the Bretons and frowned. There were only three.

"Where's the other one?" She asked.

"Stromm wanted to stay behind and keep studying the area," Erj (she knew by the way his eyes were trained on her chest) revealed.

"There's no sign of danger, so we're coming back in an hour to check on him," Vilkas called from down the hall, inspecting a lever jutting out from the wall. Ruccia frowned and walked over.

"What is that?" She asked. Vilkas eyed her and took a step back from the switch.

"How am I supposed to know?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the smart one?"

"Compared to you?"

They glared at each other, neither noticed the Bretons had caught up to them and were now scrutinizing the lever.

"Perhaps it unlocks one of these doors," one murmured.

"No, no, it most certainly calls the lift," another said.

"I'll bet it opens a secret door to the treasury," That one could only be Erj. Ruccia wrapped her fingers around it, feeling strange warmth against her palm.

"There's only one way to find out," She said. Vilkas opened his mouth but the girl had already pulled the lever down. A loud, grating groan echoed through the hall, then nothing. For a few moments, everyone stood completely still.

Vilkas scowled and grabbed Ruccia roughly by the shoulder.

"You fool! These ruins are filled with traps, if you don't know what something is _don't touch it_!" He admonished. Ruccia growled and pulled away.

"It doesn't matter, nothing happened!"

"_This _time. Ysgramor's beard, do you have _any _sense in that head of yours?"

"Look you—!" Ruccia coughed and covered her mouth with her hand. Gas began to hiss from the floor and walls, enveloping the group in a mist that made their eyes tear and throats burn. They coughed and wheezed, trying to force the noxious fumes out of their bodies.

The Bretons were the first to fall. Ruccia felt herself growing weak and struggled to remain on her feet. Through darkening vision she saw Vilkas bracing himself against the wall, trying to fend off the gas by covering his mouth and nose. His eyes were watering and his armor was clanking as tremors wracked his body.

With a final gasp for breath, Ruccia collapsed.


	6. Chapter 6

Cold. Cold and wet. Cold and wet and _throbbing_, gods! Everything hurt! Ruccia groaned and squinted her eyes open, trying to get a basic idea of where she was. She couldn't see much, it was dark but she could make out what seemed to be an exit, like a tent flap, a few feet away. The area was small, she could feel a strange leathery substance against her toes when she stretched them out to the wall.

Her toes…

She grimaced, realizing that she was wearing nothing but her small clothes. Even her hair-tie, which usually kept up a tight ponytail, was gone leaving her gold locks to cascade down past her shoulders. Her hands were bound behind her back, tied to something large and warm. She shivered and edged her way backwards until her back was pressed as closely to the source of heat as she could get.

There was a groan and the warmth shifted against her. Ruccia looked over her shoulder and squinted through the darkness, seeing a person's head turn left and right, probably taking in their surroundings as she had.

They were quite a bit larger than her, she fit perfectly against his (for it surely must be a man) back and there was still a mass of muscle to spare.

"Hey," she whispered, unsure of who might be listening. "Do you know where we are?"

"Ruccia?" Vilkas groaned. "If you're here then I must be in the deepest pit of Oblivion."

Ruccia scowled.

"Of all the lousy…Well, I can promise that we are both very much alive. Keep talking like that, though, and you won't be for much longer. Do you have any idea where this is?"

Vilkas was quiet for a few moments.

"We're still in Nchuand-Zel, I can hear the machines."

Ruccia frowned and strained her ears, but she couldn't hear anything except for the sound of dripping water and odd chitters coming from outside. She shifted, feeling her hands brush against Vilkas's. They were tied together, wrists to wrists. One of the bindings felt like old rope, it chaffed against her skin and she knew that she'd have angry, red welts later. The other felt harder, smoother and colder, like plate metal but not as heavy.

"Can you get loose?" She asked, squirming away from the heat of Vilkas's back with a wrinkled nose. She instantly regretted it when the cold air chilled her skin. Damn those Nord's and their warmth, but she wouldn't allow herself to huddle up to him. He moved and wriggled his wrists.

"Not on my own," he admitted. "I might be able to cut us out if I find a sharp rock or something. My armor and weapons are gone."

"Mine too, find something."

Her wrists moved with his as he felt around blindly behind him, brushing his fingers through the dirt floor.

"I think I found something."

"That's my _ass_, you freak!"

"Oh, calm down! I can't see a damned thing in here!"

"Ow! Don't twist that way!"

"Stop your shouting! Someone's coming."

The flap was pulled open and a faint glowing light flooded the hut. A grotesque, hunched over creature prowled inside. Its face was flat and skin sickeningly tight, flesh had grown over where its eyes should be and its nose was only two small slats of nostrils in the center of its face. A bow was slung over its shoulder and was as long as its emaciated body.

Ruccia gasped and tried to squirm away as it approached. Fang-like, yellow teeth were bared as it stretched its thin lips and hissed at her. Droplets of spittle splashed against her face.

"Don't move," Vilkas said quietly. Ruccia whimpered and the creature pressed its nose against the hollow of her throat and inhaled deeply, hissing once more as it worked its way to her hair. It placed its hand, clammy with paper-like skin, on her shoulder to steady itself as it continued to sniff her.

"What is this thing?" She whispered, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice. Vilkas was watching, lip curled in disgust.

"I think it's a Falmer…a snow elf."

"Snow elf?" Ruccia's nan had told her bedtime stories of the Snow Elves. That they were a regal and noble people that lived in beautiful palaces and were extremely intelligent scholars. This creature was far from the image she had painted in her little-girl mind.

"I've heard tales that they lived under Skyrim. Kidnap naughty children at night, that sort of thing. Just stay calm."

"Let's have it start sniffing _you_ and see how _calm_ _you act_!" The Falmer screeched and slipped a dagger from its belt, holding it against Ruccia's neck. She gasped and flinched back, cursing and praying all in the same breath.

"They're blind," Vilkas quietly explained. "Their ears are very sensitive and they don't like loud noises. I know it's impossible for you, but you should probably stop shouting."

"You son-of-a-bitch, now really isn't the time to be pissing me off," she growled, keeping her eyes trained on the elf's dagger. The Falmer stood still, keeping her at knife point for a few more minutes before crawling over to Vilkas.

It gave him the same treatment, sniffing at his skin and hair, grabbing at his muscled arms, chest and abdomen, chittering and hissing while it examined him. Vilkas shifted uncomfortably under the elf's hands and Ruccia grimaced despite her relief that it was finished with her.

"Brace yourself," Vilkas murmured. Ruccia made a confused sound, but before she could voice a question Vilkas twisted, catching the elf's head between his legs and keeping it pinned. It screeched and writhed, dropping the dagger in a panic. Vilkas twisted in the opposite direction, a snap echoing through the hut as he broke the elf's neck and it went limp against him.

"I've got its dagger," Vilkas announced, "stay still."

"Not a problem," Ruccia groaned, her shoulders sore from being jerked around and her head spinning from the quick movements. Vilkas took the blade under his foot and slid it backwards, shifting to his knees for a few moments to maneuver the dagger into his hand. He strained to look over his shoulder as he flipped it in his palm and began to saw their rope-bound hands free.

When the fibers snapped, instant relief flooded through Ruccia's shoulder. She pulled her hand to her face and flexed her fingers, frowning slightly at the red ring in her skin. Vilkas sighed to himself and began to stand, dragging the small girl up with him. She squeaked and hurried to her feet, staring down at the binds still holding them together.

It was dark in color and reminded her of a beetle's carapace.

"Can't you cut through this one?" She asked in annoyance. Vilkas shook his head.

"This dagger is dull enough as it is. We might need it and I don't want to be completely defenseless. His friends might be waiting for us," He said, motioning to the dead Falmer. Ruccia swallowed thickly at the thought of _more _of those things. "Besides, this stuff feels like it'd be too strong to break with an old blade."

"But, will we be able to fight like this?"

"Just follow my lead."

Ruccia frowned but tried to keep up with the Nord as he exited the hut. They were welcomed by a large room, illuminated by mushrooms glowing on the walls. Water flooded the floor with a few ramps leading up into the higher balconies with golden doors opening into different sections of the ruin but there was no inclination on which one was the exit.

"We need to find Stromm and the others. Keep an eye out for our effects on the way," Vilkas said. As he'd mentioned, his armor had been taken away, leaving him nothing but the leather breeches he wore underneath. He looked around the room, appraising each route and trying to determine the correct path.

"He was in the living quarters, right? The rest were with us, they must be around here somewhere," She grimaced, "along with more Falmer."

Vilkas nodded once and sniffed, wrinkling his nose at the odor of mold and musty water. He slipped the dagger into the waistband of his pants.

"Alright, let's go." They both moved to continue, Ruccia went left and Vilkas went right until their shackles pulled them harshly back toward each other.

"_This _way," Vilkas growled. Ruccia glared.

"How do you know?"

"I told you to follow my lead!"

"Well, what if you get us lost?"

"If _you_ lead we'll be in a whole different kind of trouble! _I _don't pull every damn lever we come across so our chances of survival are higher if I'm in charge."

Ruccia scowled and shoved Vilkas roughly. He grabbed her but his feet slid on the wet stone of the floor, toppling them both into the dirty water below. Ruccia thrashed and kicked, nailing Vilkas in the ribs a few times as they swam up for air. She spit a stream of water at his face and he snarled, pushing her head under and smirking triumphantly at the furious circle of bubbles that began breaking the surface.

Ruccia flung her head back and chomped down on Vilkas's hand. Vilkas exclaimed in surprise and yanked his arm out of the water, pulling the girl—with her teeth still embedded in his flesh—along with it.

"Get off, you gods-damned animal!" He shouted. Blood trickled from the corners of her mouth, but she held fast. Vilkas's eyes widened and he closed his hand as best he could in order to shake his arm roughly. He dislodged Ruccia, who spat a glob of his deep, red blood into the murky water. "Wash your mouth out now, don't you dare swallow!"

"Huh?" Ruccia arched and eyebrow and wiped the blood from her mouth. Vilkas grabbed her by the shoulder harshly, his eyes burning furiously and his teeth bared.

"Wash out your mouth, get _all_ of the blood out! For once just do what I tell you!"

Ruccia glared, but the blood _did_ taste bitter on her tongue. She grimaced, staring down at the murky water before scooping up some of the grey liquid and washing the streams off her face before taking another handful and swishing it—reluctantly—around her mouth.

Vilkas watched anxiously, the last thing he needed was the young Imperial to start growing more rabid than usual. The mere thought of her succumbing to his beast-blood in the middle of a Falmer-infested ruin (not to mention that he was attached to her until gods-knew-when) was nightmarish.

"Are you finished?" Vilkas asked when she stopped spitting out a disgusting mix of red and grey fluid.

"Yes."

"Did you get _all _of it?"

"How should I know? I can't taste it at anymore, so I guess," Ruccia scowled. "What's the big deal?"

"Nothing, let's just keep moving," Vilkas pointed to a ramp that was halfway submerged into the lake, "_this _way."

"Freak," Ruccia muttered, but followed the man to solid ground. Swimming was a hassle, but they struggled and splashed their way over to the stone slope. They traversed upwards, dripping wet, and Ruccia was almost positive she had some sort of marine plant trapped in the hem of her smalls but Vilkas wouldn't stop to let her check.

When she'd asked, all he said was:

"Can't be worse than what usually goes into them."

She had kicked him in the back of the knee for that remark, and he stepped back to land on her toes in retaliation. It quickly escalated into a shoving match, punching and pushing and clawing until they squabbled too close to the edge and fell back into the lake.

The second trip up the ramp was quiet and uneventful. They seemed to have reached a silent agreement to not kill each other until they were far away from the icy water. Until then, Vilkas refused to look at her and Ruccia brooded as the man dragged her this way and that until they reached a large door. Vilkas placed his hand against the metal and pushed, nodding once when it gave a compliant squeak and swung open.

The entrance was dark, but a brazier was lit at the far end of the hall. Vilkas pushed the door shut behind them and once again took the lead. Ruccia had to practically jog to match the man's long stride, which was difficult in the dark where she couldn't even see her own feet. As she scurried after him, her foot brushed against something furry.

She screamed and kicked it, thinking it a lurking skeever. Vilkas jumped at the sound and looked over his shoulder to glare at the girl.

"What in Oblivion was _that_?"

"A skeever just touched my foot!" She defended.

"So? It's just a skeever."

"_Just_ a skeever?"

Vilkas shook his head and pulled her forward. A few minutes later he gasped in shock and kicked at the ground.

"What's the big deal, Vilkas? It's _just_ a skeever," Ruccia mocked.

"That was no skeever," Vilkas moved forward and felt around in the dark until his hand found the hairy object. He grabbed it and moved into the light, holding it up to the flame.

His eyes widened and Ruccia shrieked, covered her mouth, and gagged.

Illuminated by the firelight behind it, the blank, dead eyes of a Breton's head stared back at them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Thank you everyone for your alerts, favs, and reviews! We're in the middle of a big move so if I don't get around to replying to all of you, I'm terribly sorry :( But, everything you do is appreciated and really spurs me on!**

"Please…Please tell me that's not what I think it is," Ruccia choked. Her face was green and her unbound hand clasped itself over her mouth once again. Vilkas stared into the eyes of the head with a sickened grimace. The firelight flickering behind it gave the dismembered skull a sinister look, something he'd expect to see in the fire-lakes of Oblivion.

"Well, if you still think it's a skeever then you're dumber than I thought," He looked over the face of the once-Breton. His mouth was agape in a silent, agonized scream, eyes rolled up into the back of his head and his beard was matted with blood. "It's Krag," Vilkas said at length.

"What?"

"See the scar on his cheek?" He asked.

"I'm not exactly staring at it…him," She took a deep breath, trying to quell the churning in her stomach. Vilkas shook his head with a frown. He could hear noises deeper within the ruin, chittering, growling, hisses and footsteps. Things were degenerating from bad to worse while they were standing there, their chances of escaping unscathed lessening by the moment. He heard a sound approaching.

"We need to get out of here, fast," He murmured. Ruccia forced herself to look at Krag's head as Vilkas tossed it into the flames of the brazier. The way the skin began to blacken gave the Breton a daedric look that sent a chill down her spine.

"Do you think…" She trailed off. The answer was obvious: if the Falmer had done that to one Breton, they had surely done the same to the others. She knew if she finished her thought Vilkas was sure to call her an idiot again.  
He seemed to know what was on her mind regardless.

"We can't assume the worst. If they're here somewhere we need to find them. But, we can't take the Falmer on unequipped," He pulled her away from the charred head, continuing down the twisting hallway. His steps were long and quick, seemingly paying no mind to the small girl struggling to match his stride.

As they traveled deeper into the underground city, Vilkas felt ice in the pit of his stomach. If—_No; when!_—they escaped, he was going to have a long, angry chat with a certain Harbinger.

* * *

"W-wait," Ruccia gasped, tugging on Vilkas's arm to catch his attention. He made an annoyed noise deep in his throat and stopped but didn't turn to face her.

"What is it?"

"Can we just…rest for a few minutes?" She'd practically had to run to keep up with the large Nord. Not wanting to seem weak, she had forced herself onward but she could only take so much. Sweat trickled down her temple, her hair stuck to the back of her neck, and her heart thundered against her ribs. Her throat was dry and she felt as though her legs would give out at any given moment.

"The longer we sit around, the more danger we'll be in," He said simply, giving her a sharp pull forward. Ruccia dug her tired feet into the floor and yanked back with a growl.

"Just for a little," she said, "believe it or not, Imperials aren't made the same way you are, I can't just run after you for hours."

Vilkas shook his head with a scowl and turned around—keeping his eyes pointedly focused on her face. They glared at each other for a few moments, no sound except for the dripping of water and the wooden crackling of torches burning along the walls.

Without warning, Vilkas hooked his arm around Ruccia's waist, hefting her up and over his shoulder. Her right hand was bent awkwardly behind her to where it connected with his left, resting on the small of her back.

"What are you doing?" She snapped angrily. Vilkas began walking again, Ruccia's legs thumping against his chest as she bounced with each step.

"You're tired and we need to keep moving," He grumbled, "I'm _compromising_."

"Oh, is _that_what you call it?"

Vilkas growled and Ruccia could feel his chest rumble beneath her thighs.

"Anjya sent us here to work together," He began through gritted teeth, "I don't like it—didn't like it from the start. And, believe it or not, it's not completely because I'm stuck working with _you_. This isn't a usual Companion job, but she owed the Jarl of Markarth a favor so she decided to kill two birds with one stone. We are warriors not mercenaries, and it was a mistake to send us out here to begin with—not to mention _beneath_us." They came to a fork in the path and Vilkas paused while he decided which way to go. After looking back and forth between them a few times, he turned right and continued speaking, "but, I suppose we haven't been behaving the way warriors of our status are expected and that's why Anjya sent us here like common thugs."

"Your point?" Ruccia propped herself up, pushing her left hand against Vilkas's muscular back.

"_My point_," Vilkas repeated, "is that if we don't want to end up like those researchers, we need to be able to count on each other and cooperate to get out of here. Like Companions are supposed to do."

"I thought you said we couldn't assume the worst?"

"We can't. But, that doesn't mean it's not the most realistic possibility."

Ruccia suddenly felt cold, despite the warmth of Vilkas's skin against her legs and stomach. He was right, of course. Stromm, Erj and Staubin (he was always so quiet, she would usually forget he was with them) were likely already dead—and without their arms and armor, so were she and Vilkas. She swallowed thickly and bit her lip.

"Do you think Anjya knew?"

"What? Knew that we'd get stranded in a maze of tunnels lurking with homicidal elves? She isn't that cruel. If there were any real danger that she knew of she would have warned us."

Ruccia nodded once, feeling only slightly better about the situation. With Vilkas having nothing more to say, silence stretched between them.

Ruccia wrinkled her nose and sighed, glancing over her shoulder to look at the back of Vilkas's head.

"I will if you will," she grumbled.

"Will what?" Vilkas asked, brushing a cobweb to the side. Ruccia scowled and blew a strand of hair out of her face.

_Fine, make me say it. As if being slung over your shoulder isn't embarrassment enough._

"I'll cooperate if you do."

"Well, I'll cooperate if you do," Vilkas replied.

"Then, I guess it's settled."

"I guess so."

"Fine," Ruccia huffed.

"Fine. Now, hurry and rest up. I feel like I'm carrying a dead horker."


	8. Chapter 8

**For anyone who's been having trouble pronouncing Ruccia's name, it's "Roo-chee-ah".**

Vilkas was always told that he had the brains and his brother had the brawn. He'd been perfectly fine with that, knowing that a sharp mind was just as useful as a sharp blade. He was the go-to man for any questions a Companion could have, whether it be history or the identification of a strange creature they had encountered. His brother looked up to him and relied on him to solve any problems they came across.

For this reason, Vilkas felt even more stressed out as he was _sure _he had passed that same statue five times now. He paused and shook his head. No, the Dwemer were just uncreative. Vilkas had an excellent sense of direction. He couldn't possibly be walking in circles…could he?

"We're lost," Ruccia sighed.

"Your powers of observation are _astounding_," Vilkas growled in reply. But, gods be damned, she was right. The statue had the same large chip at the base; something he doubted would've been added for aesthetic purposes by an ancient dwarven sculptor. He looked around for a corridor he had perhaps missed, or a door.

Nothing.

His head ached. There had to be something, some switch or flight of stairs, a sign post with "Home" carved in large letters would be more than welcome as well. There was no way, just no way, this room looped perpetually with no exit. Vilkas groaned and rubbed his eyes with his hand. How long had they been walking? Hours? Days? By Ysmir, he felt as though his legs were about to give out from under him.

"I feel sick," Ruccia grimaced. Vilkas frowned and nodded once.

"You're probably hungry, but I doubt we'd want to eat anything around here. The food is centuries old and all our provisions were at the campsite and in our bags, neither of which are on hand now. We'll just have to ignore it until we find something suitable. Maybe we can hunt down some skeevers, since I know how much you _love _those."

Ruccia scowled and Vilkas smirked as her skin seemed to turn green. Now that he looked at her, she did seem a bit pale and had circles forming under her eyes. Sweat trickled down the side of her face and she was breathing heavily. Perhaps they had been walking even longer than he thought.

"Let's rest for a while," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We'll have to try and find our way back to the room with the lake and take a different route."

Ruccia opened her mouth but before she could reply, she collapsed to her knees, yanking Vilkas's arm roughly towards the floor. He gasped in shock, scowled and worked to keep his footing.

"I didn't mean here," He snapped, trying to yank the girl to her feet. "Come on, get up, whelp!" Vilkas growled and knelt beside the woman, frowning when she fell onto her stomach. He grabbed her arms, gasping and pulling his hands away as he came into contact with her burning skin. "Whelp?"

He rolled her onto her back, pushing her loose hair out of her face and grimacing at the unnatural warmth that seeped into his palms. "Whelp, do you hear me? Ruccia," when she didn't reply, Vilkas cursed and gathered her limp body into his arms. She moaned softly but didn't open her eyes, her chest heaved with panting breaths and she only seemed to grow hotter as Vilkas moved down the hall.

* * *

_Hot. Burning. Fire flickered around her, searing her flesh and biting deep into her bone. But, she had to keep moving. It was behind her, somewhere in the inferno. Chasing her. Hunting her. Waiting to devour her. She could feel its eyes following her and no matter how fast she ran, its presence never disappeared._

_She was roughly yanked backwards, falling on her back and feeling her breath leave her lungs in a rush. She was still dazed as a shadow loomed over her, a low, menacing growl rumbling around her. Vilkas glared down at her, his eyes glowing golden in the blaze. He dropped down on top of her, pinning her arms and legs with a snarl._

"_Vilkas," she gasped, struggling under his weight. "What are you…get off of me!"_

_Vilkas snarled, pulling his lips back over large, inhuman fangs. He dipped his head down and Ruccia gasped as his pressed his nose against her neck, inhaling her scent with a growl. Ruccia bucked beneath him, trying to squirm free._

_His hot breath puffed against her skin as he sniffed her again, more deeply, his tongue darted out and ran along the length of her neck, a rumble reverberating in his chest. Vilkas threw his head back and howled. His hand slapped down against her stomach, clawed fingers digging into her, keeping her completely motionless. He watched her for a moment, bared his fangs, then ripped into her throat._

* * *

Vilkas slapped his hand over Ruccia's mouth as a blood-curdling scream tore itself from her throat. She arched and jerked in his arms, tears streaming from her clenched eyes, veins popping up on the side of her neck as she strained against his hold.

It was the blood, that was the only thing he could think of. She had swallowed some, maybe just a drop, but that was all it would take. Vilkas cursed quietly and pulled her against his chest, trying to keep her still and in the shadows as the chittering of Falmer echoed through the ruin.

He had managed to work his way back to the lake, carrying the sweating girl in his arms while she writhed and moaned in her nightmare. He remembered the vision from his own transformation, Skjor tearing him apart and letting the beast loose, breaking him and dominating him. He knew too well the horror she was living.

How much time did he have until she changed? He wracked his brain for memories of past turnings. Farkas had taken six hours, but he was a large Nord. Anjya had taken three, though she'd been lucky and lost consciousness during her change. Ruccia was much smaller than both of them, so that gave him two hours? Half an hour?

_If she even survives…_

Vilkas moved to the lake, dipping the girl into the cold water to cool her burning skin. Ruccia sobbed, gasped for breath and shuddered.

"Come on, Whelp," Vilkas muttered, "You never gave up back at Jorrvaskr, don't stop fighting now. I just need to think." Vilkas glanced at the different ramps, none of which gave any indication of whether they lead to the exit. _Pick one and go, that's the only option at this point._ He lifted Ruccia out of the water, grimacing at her still far-too-warm skin.

He'd never given much thought to how small she was, but with the Imperial curled into his chest and whimpering pathetically, he realized she was still just a young girl. Barely more than a child. For a brief moment, Vilkas felt a twinge of guilt for the way he'd been treating her since she arrived in Jorrvaskr. She was a foreigner, wide-eyed and naïve, chasing glory that wasn't hers to obtain. At least that's what he'd always told himself. Especially after the first time she'd beaten him down.

Maybe he'd been too hard on her.

Ruccia convulsed and screamed again, her wet hair sticking to her face in long tendrils. Vilkas held her closer to his chest with a deep frown, picked the closest ramp, and hurried up to the door. He wasn't sure which situation he was more likely to survive: Being trapped in a Falmer nest or being chained to a newly turned werewolf?

Swallowing thickly, Vilkas decided he didn't care to find out.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm so, so sorry for the wait! You'll never have to wait as long as you have again! I hope people are still reading this...**

Vilkas cursed and looked down both of the tunnels stretched before him. Shadows swallowed the path just a few feet in, no hint of a breeze or light from the outside anywhere. The sound of water dripping pounded in his ears like a war-drum, but he couldn't figure out which darkened corridor the sound was coming from.  
His heart raced and sweat beaded on his brow. He was running out of time and he spared a quick glance to the girl in his arms.

Ruccia's chest heaved and her body quivered as though she was freezing, but it proved that she was still alive. Her skin was clammy and covered in dirt, grime, and Divines knew what else. A soft whimper tumbled over her lips, echoing hauntingly through the ruins.

Her eyes snapped open and she saw him—or through him. Gone was her usual lavender stare. Her pupils were dilated, orbs of midnight cradled in the shining silver of the moon. Her mouth moved. Her pale lips attempted to wrap around the words her throat couldn't quite force out.

"Don't give up," Vilkas ordered gruffly, "I'll never hear the end of it if you die on me."

_Or worse._

Ruccia's eyes rolled back into her head and she fell limp in his hold. Vilkas could feel the Imperial's muscles spasm against his palms and made an adjustment to the countdown that had been running in his head. Twenty minutes—give or take. Twenty minutes and at least one of them would be dead.

He had to think. He was the clever one for a reason. He studied what little he could see of the passageways, determined that if he continued to head upwards he would eventually reach the surface, and started down the right-hand path.

Vilkas traveled in darkness, moving as swiftly and as carefully as he could through the hall. His bare feet passed over stones, moss, and something he refused to allow himself to recognize as bone. Ruccia continued to whimper and moan, her skin growing hotter and hotter with each passing second.

Fifteen minutes, he amended and cursed. He wouldn't be able to find a cure before the transformation overtook her. There had to be something, anything that he could do to delay her change. Or he could put her out of her misery now, but the idea of dragging along her corpse was far less tempting than it would've been a few days ago.

No, Vilkas asserted. No, they were companions. As much as she grated on his every nerve and tested his restraint to run her through, she was his Shield-Sister. Whether she changed into the beast or he found a potion strategically placed in his loincloth, they would return to Whiterun together, or die for the glory of Ysgramor.

An archway greeted him from the end of the hall, leading to a room bathed in light. Vilkas all but ran toward it, stumbling only slightly on the slippery floor. A breath of relief rushed out of his lungs at the illumination, but his throat constricted and he ducked behind a wall as a Falmer troupe stalked by.

He heard the scrabbling of their feet—more than the patrol making their rounds on his level. He poked his head out around the corner, eyeing a ramp and a door just on the other side of the room. There were six, maybe seven of the elves prowling around the chamber.  
If he could keep light on his feet, be as silent at possible, he could make it up and out and the creatures would be none-the-wiser. Vilkas took a steeling breath and carefully began to sneak across the floor.

Several doors dotted the walls, a few other ramps led up to platforms that had long since crumbled away to dust. Vilkas caught himself wondering if there were reinforcements lurking behind the stone portals, but he returned his focus on escape. It didn't matter if there was an army—he was not spending a moment longer in this pit than he had to. With that in mind, he began his trek across the room.

So far, so good. Vilkas side-stepped a Falmer that moved a tad too close, his breath caught in his throat when the elf flared its nostrils but it paid him no more mind than if he were one of its own. It lumbered off, chittering and growling. Its sword scraped against the slick stone as it moved and Vilkas gritted his teeth at the grating noise.

He was halfway to the highest ramp when Ruccia jerked, an ear-splitting screech ripping from her throat. The Falmer screeched a united war-cry and charged, brandishing bows, axes, and swords. Vilkas cursed and narrowly dodged an arrow aimed for his head. He ran for the ramp with Ruccia writhing and sobbing against his chest.

"Damn you, whelp!" He growled, kicking the legs out from under a Falmer blocking his path. It fell from the side of the ramp, screeching until it slammed against the ground and remained motionless. The mob of elves chasing at his heels made his victory short lived. Vilkas's thoughts drifted to the rusted dagger in the waistband of his pants, but he knew he couldn't fight them off with Ruccia incapacitated.

His only hope was to run.

The ramp lead into another hall and Vilkas cursed the Dwemer and their extravagant cities. The army of Falmer was closing in on him, he could feel their breath on his bare back.

Fire spread through his shoulder as an arrow buried itself deep into his flesh. Vilkas cried out and almost dropped Ruccia in shock, but he forced his feet to keep moving.

He spotted an open door and flung himself through it. Vilkas slammed it shut behind him, fumbled with the barricade, and let out a relieved breath when it dropped into place. He could hear the clang of their weapons against the metal, but was positive they wouldn't be able to break through.

Vilkas turned and slid down the door, mindful of the arrow jutting from his right shoulder. He braced Ruccia against his chest and grimaced. Her eyes were open again, staring blankly ahead. She was slicked with sweat, just as he was, and her body trembled against him, alternating from burning hot to freezing.

She whispered something, so quiet Vilkas almost missed it.

"_Daddy_..."


	10. Chapter 10

Ruccia continued to mumble, her head rolled back and her eyes landed on Vilkas. He could feel the girl's heart beating at a dangerous pace and recognized a flash of fear in the silver consuming her irises. The color made him sick.

Ruccia's lips moved, attempting to wrap around the words that her mind managed to form in her current state. She weakly struggled in his arms, gasped for breath, but all she managed to do was collapse against him and shudder.

"Don't...eat me..."

"I'm not going to eat you."

She was talking, that was a start. Talking was human.

"It hurts," Ruccia whined and tried to curl in on herself, but Vilkas's arms kept her still. Vilkas shifted, painfully away of the arrow still embedded in his skin.

"It's going to get a lot worse," He warned. "You shouldn't have bitten me, you little brat."

Ruccia craned her neck and gave Vilkas her best glare, and the man could have laughed.

"That's better," he said instead. "I'm about to ask you something I know I'm going to regret, but I need you to talk to me."

"I don't..." Ruccia shuddered, her eyelids drifting shut.

"Hey!" Vilkas slapped her cheeks with just enough force to bring her to attention. "I don't care what you talk about, just stay awake."

"If I go to sleep, you'll eat me again." Ruccia accused. Vilkas only nodded.

"Tell me about Cyrodiil. Why did you leave?" If he had to bait her into speaking, he would.

"I wanted to be a Companion."

"I know that part," Vilkas looked around their hiding place for the first time. It was some sort of laboratory. Cracked alchemy apparatuses rested on an ancient metal desk. Old books, the text long since worn away, were scattered across the floor and several other desks that were placed around the room. Dusty shelves lined the walls, filled with bowls and vials. Vials! A potion was a potion, no matter how old it might be. At least he hoped. He lifted Ruccia once again, wincing at the sting in his shoulder when he moved. "Why did you want to be a Companion?"

"My brother would tell me stories. Dadd-Father didn't agree with him filling my head with them but...they were my favorite."

"You mentioned your father earlier," Vilkas squinted, attempting to make out the labels on the vials. He realized they weren't written in Tamrielic and wished one of the Breton scholars had survived to translate for him. "What is he like?"

"Father is a merchant in...in the Imperial City..."

"Don't fall asleep!"

Ruccia tensed, but her eyes pulled themselves open.

"And your brother?"

"Why do you care?" Ruccia snapped. Vilkas scowled and shifted her roughly in his arms, though he instantly regretted it when he felt the arrowhead cut him deeper.

"I'm trying to keep you alive, ungrateful whelp!"

Ruccia frowned and looked away. She was silent, as though she had to work to collect her thoughts.

"Lucius was a soldier. He came to Skyrim with the Legion to help with the rebellion...he died."

"I'm sure he fought bravely." Did he dare risk poisoning the girl? As his eyes darted from one potion to the next, Vilkas pondered if it wouldn't be doing her a favor.

Ruccia laughed weakly, but it was a sound that gave Vilkas a shred of hope. His plan to delay her change seemed to be working, for now.

"Brain rot. He didn't even get to fight a single battle. I was on my way to replace him when I heard the Companions were in Whiterun. I decided to join you, instead."

Vilkas paused momentarily and looked down at the Imperial in shock.

"You're in the Legion?"

Ruccia shook her head, looking slightly sheepish.

"No. But I thought if I begged them enough, they'd let me take my brother's place."

"If you annoyed them enough, you mean." Vilkas snorted.

"Father said I was an idiot...that it wouldn't end well. He said if I left then I'd better never return home. I think he was just afraid for me, he was never as harsh before my brother died...Vilkas, I can't keep my eyes open anymore."

_Damn..._ Vilkas maneuvered his hand to grab a random potion and hoped it would have some positive effect.

"Drink this first," He ordered, sitting back on the ground so his arm was free to tilt the vial against Ruccia's lips. She opened her mouth, already slipping back into unconsciousness, but she managed to swallow the liquid before falling limp.

Vilkas sighed and looked at the empty vial is his hand. He wasn't a man of the Divines, by any means, but he found himself praying to whichever one that would listen.

_It doesn't matter what you do to her once we're back in Whiterun, but don't let her die here._


End file.
